


Jagged Timeframes Of Waiting

by Bibliotheksbewohnerin



Category: Rivers of London - Ben Aaronovitch
Genre: Book: Whispers Under Ground, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Missing Scene, Nightingale showing emotions because that is my weakness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-19
Updated: 2014-08-19
Packaged: 2018-02-13 21:59:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2166684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bibliotheksbewohnerin/pseuds/Bibliotheksbewohnerin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Missing scene fic for Whispers Under Ground, when Peter gets buried underneath a platform at Oxford Circus station. What Lesley and others are up to while Peter is being dug out, plus a very worried Nightingale. Will also be delaing with Peter being in hospital in later chapters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jagged Timeframes Of Waiting

After Jaget Kumar had informed the station manager of the emergency and made sure the right people were being alerted, he turned just in time to see the suspect punch a hole in the cement floor of the platform. Before his colleagues could recover from the blow, said suspect managed to somehow create a crack that lead to the whole platform collapsing. Everything went black for a second. When Kumar recovered, he first felt around for injuries, all he could find were a few scrapes, then he started registering everything around him. What had been the platform were now rubbles, as far as he could see to the other end. The crack was now indistinguishable from the mess of ceramic tiles and cement pieces. He thought he spotted Reynolds but wasn’t sure since her clothes were probably the same colour as the mess. He tried waving at her. She waved back.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

After Nightingale had come out at the other side of Bayswater Station he’d phoned Lesley and they met at the fake house. It was clear that Jaget Kumar and Peter had found a way that let them further underground, and they were by then too far away for Lesley to be any help.  
Nightingale had the urge to go down there after them but he knew it was quite irrational. He also suppressed the urge to worry over the fact that he had sent his apprentice, whom he had sworn to protect down there, to go-knows-what was...living in underground. Lesley had stuck around underground for a little longer just in case, but gone back up to sip the coffee Nightingale had brought along while it was still hot. Peter was a good policeman. He wouldn’t have proceeded hadn’t he felt safe. And Kumar, from what Nightingale had gathered, had experience with these sort of adventures.

“What do we do now? We can’t just stick around here and hope they’ll pop up somewhere?” said Lesley who was leaning in the doorway of the house opposite Nightigale, who was wearing his greatcoat and obviously shivering. Fake houses don’t have heating.

“Yes, I think that is very unlikely. Since we aren’t of much help to them now, I think it’s time we get back to the folly. I really don’t mean this in a condescending way, but you look like you could use some sleep. And we don’t want Molly to get worried, do we?”

Lesley nodded and they went back to where Nightingale had parked the Jag. When they arrived at the Folly, Molly was standing a few steps up the stairs, starring at them. “I’m sorry Molly, I know it’s very late” Nightingale said as he closed the door behind Lesley. Lesley wished Nightingale a good night and went up the stairs to catch at least a few hours of probably restless sleep. Molly had followed her up but came back down to stare at Nightingale some more.

“I know, but I can’t sleep before I know they popped up somewhere. It’s my duty as his master and governor to make sure that he is safe, isn’t it?”  
That seemed to satisfy her and she glided back to the kitchen, only to come back a few minutes later with tea she set down on the little table next to the armchair by the telephone in the atrium Nightingale was sitting in. He said thank you and immediately wrapped his fingers around the warm cup for comfort. 

Had he done the right thing? Could he be really sure there was nothing dangerous down there? Dangerous enough to harm someone? Probably not. The fact that Peter was a wizard didn’t change the fact that people were in the underground tunnels all the time. Why should that secret tunnel be a problem? No. He shouldn’t be worrying about this. It was a normal operation, it was well planned and everything should turn out alright. They were just looking for evidence, for god’s sake, he shouldn’t be worrying so much. That’s what he tried to tell himself. But he couldn’t shake that feeling out of his gut, so he tried to drown it with tea instead.  
Nightingale must have dozed off, because the ringing telephone startled him and he almost jumped out of his chair. 

It was Sergeant Kumar. Thank god. He filled Nightingale in on what they had been up to, how they now had Reynolds in tow, and the suspect they’d lost. Nightingale could hear thuds of what was called music these days in the background. Kumar had described the club to him. Nightingale hoped that Kumar hadn’t heard the sharp intake of his breath when he’d gotten to the part where Peter sort of got shot. From the way Kumar described the situation he was pretty sure Peter had used impello. How had he doubted him again? He did escape the Faceless Man unharmed, after all. 

Kumar told him that everybody had been informed and that they’d leave the club once they’d gotten rid of that nasty smell. Nightingale would have to talk to Seawoll about what to do with Reynolds. Especially now that she’d probably seen some magic.  
Kumar hung up and Nightingale took a deep breath. When was the last time he’d gotten a good night’s sleep? Probably before the war.  
He got up from the armchair, straightened his suit and went into his room to change and try to make himself look like he slept. When he got downstairs, Molly had already prepared breakfast and Lesley was sitting at the table with her mask on, chewing on what looked like scrambled eggs.

“Good Morning. Did you get a call from Seawoll yet?” she asked when she had swallowed some coffee.

“No. I assume you’re wanted there for the meeting of the Murder Investigation Team? I’ll drive you over and meet up with him there to discuss further action.” He poured himself some coffee and wished the mug was bigger.

They were sharing a moment of peace and quiet, safe for Molly gliding from the dinner room to the kitchen and back, when Lesley’s mobile rang.

“Yes sir?”

If she hadn’t been wearing her mask, Nightingale could have probably seen the colour leave her face, he was sure. But even like this he registered the change in her eyes and the drop in her voice when she said “We’ll be right there”  
Something must have gone wrong. He could hear Seawoll shouting, even from the other side of the breakfast table.  
Nightingale carefully put down his coffee cup. Lesley hung up. She cleared her throat.

“Apparently they found the suspect when they were about to leave that club, and followed him until Oxford Circus where he somehow managed to turn a whole platform into rubbles. Sergeant Kumar from the BTP seems to have reached Station Management just in time, but the suspect escaped after his, ah little magic trick as Seawoll put it. Kumar and that FBI Agent seem to have gotten away with a few scrapes.” Lesley swallowed. “But they haven’t found Peter yet.”

“We better get going then.” Nightingale said after a brief pause of staring into nothingness, hoping Lesley wouldn’t notice that he was trying to mask emotions with sternness. He grabbed his coat from the coat rack and was almost out of the door when the Folly’s phone in the atrium rang. He noticed Molly had stuck her head out of the kitchen and was watching him with a steady gaze. He picked up the phone.

“DCI Nightingale?”

“Nightingale.” Said a female voice at the other end. Then there was a pause. He recognized the voice immediately. 

“Your boy is sloshing around in my waters and he smells of wizard.” She spat out the last word.” I guess I’m going to have to dig him out if you lot can’t even bother to keep the tube intact before Christmas.” Tyburn hung up before Nightingale could even think of an answer. He took a deep breath.

“Tyburn found him” Nightingale said to Lesley, who came running down the stairs, having grabbed her stuff in her room.  
“What do we do?”  
“I believe DCI Seawoll is awaiting us. Maybe you could be so kind as to call him on the way.”  
“Thomas, what the fuck happened down there?” Seawoll greeted them as they stepped into the Outside Injury Team office. 

“I’m certainly sorry about these events...”

“Well you better fucking be. Transport for London is very happy about a terror scare before Christmas. Really fucking happy. But I guess we’ve got to get to the issue at hand.” He seemed to calm himself down a little and his voice got quieter.  
“Sorry to hear Grant’s still somewhere underneath that platform. I’m uh...sure they’ll get him out alright.” Lesley was slightly shocked. Seawoll providing words of comfort? Must be the Christmas spirit.  
She was scared he might pad Nightingale on the shoulder for a second, but Seawoll seemed to make up his mind quickly.

Leaving Lesley with the Murder Injury team, Nightingale got into the Jag to drive to Oxford Circus. His official excuse was to look for Evidence, aka vestigia, the less official one to meet up with Tyburn. His personal one was to make sure Peter came out alive. His throat was closing up just thinking about the possibility that something could have happened to him.  
Nightingale knew that he would never be able to forgive himself. He was surprised that he was still capable of these emotions, after everything that had happened in his far too long life.  
Sometimes he wondered whether surviving was a privilege or a curse. And he had given up on life for a while. Closed himself off. Maybe because he didn’t think he really deserved to live. But taking on apprentices had been a fresh start. It made him realise what he missed in all these years. That living was neither privilege nor curse, but a responsibility, a duty. To the dead, but now mostly to his apprentices. He would not be able to stand losing any of them.

Nightingale shook his head as to rid himself of all these thoughts. He needed to function. 

He found a spot to park the Jag a few streets away and got out of the car. Not running, but certainly walking at the fastest pace he was capable of, he made his way through the crowd that had gathered around the entrance to the station, a mix of interested tourists, enraged commuters and scared shoppers.  
There were several fire engines and police cars parked in the middle of the square as well as several ambulances that made his throat close up. He showed the PC at the top of the stairs his warrant card and went down to the station. 

Nightingale spotted Jaget Kumar sitting on a stretcher and approached him. Kumar gave him a weak smile. He still seemed to be wearing his underground exploration gear, though someone had handed him a rescue blanket that he had wrapped around his shoulders.

“Inspector Nightingale, I didn’t expect to see you here so quickly.” He made to get up but Nightingale stopped him with a gesture of his right hand.

“I shall see if I can gather some information about our suspect from the mess he has made here. I hope you have not been harmed?”  
“Agent Reynolds and I were lucky, we got away with a few scrapes. “ Kumar’s gaze fell to the floor.  
“Let’s hope the same is true for Peter.”

Nightingale was about to say something when he felt a wave of cigar smoke, the smell of new car seats, horses and Stilton, hemp and the sensation of a roaring crowd coming from behind. He turned around to find Lady Ty staring at him with arms crossed, while she somehow managed to smirk and seem very pissed off at the same time.

“I can’t always handle your affairs Nightingale. I’d have left him there if I wanted, but he’ll smell worse dead.” She was watching him carefully, almost studying him. “Don’t look so alarmed, he’s still alive. I practically heard him screaming all the way to Hampstead.” Nightingale involuntarily flinched at the thought of Peter screaming in pain or fear. He really hoped Tyburn hadn’t seen it. But she had already turned around and left.

Nightingale went over to the platform that no longer could be regarded as such, but found that he could not see much from where he was standing, except for a few rubbles and the floodlights that had been put up. Dozens of firemen were busy removing rubbles from the piles on the tracks and what used to be the platform. Nightingale spoke to one of the less busy firemen who were overlooking everthing who told him that it might take another hour for them to get to his protégé. Nightingale took a look around and found a wall that wasn’t occupied by any equipment and leaned on it. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He didn’t particularly care if his suit was getting dirty from all the dust.

**Author's Note:**

> Title borrowed from the poem "London Underground" by Louis Kasatkin. I tried my best to keep it consistant with canon, so plase inform me of any mistakes!


End file.
